There are few things more boring than standing around, discussing the weather. After all, the cliché of “Can you believe this weather we’re having” is a water cooler cliché for a reason. But in Chicago, discussing the weather is legit; it becomes an incredulous bonding experience, an emotional girder against disappointment, and a crowd-sourced form of physical survival.
So to that end (and pardoning any dramatics): We're all gonna die.
It’s true. 2014 has been downright brutal to the Midwest and some folks have come to permanently believe that they live in the Arctic Circle, forever and ever. Amen. Even my smallest kids have adopted that scrunched-up face to bolster themselves against the cutting winds upon stepping outside.
But the past few days? It’s going to get us all killed, folks. Temperatures rising teasingly into the mid-forties and melted snowbanks sluicing down the sidewalks have convinced hearty Chicagoans that spring is here.
Listen to me, Chicago: Spring is not here. It is not.
Forty-five degrees is not T-shirt weather, nor should we shove our fleece underlayers into storage just yet. We need to visualize way back in the balmy autumn of ’13 – remember that? Back when a dip into 40s territory would have us blasting the heat and hibernating into Snuggies? Hold onto your Snuggie memories, folks. Grip them tight.
Because sooner than you can say “Negative Twenty Windchill,” there we’ll be: emotionally crushed. Bitterly disappointed. Dying of pneumonia.
So let’s take care of each other out there, yeah? Remind our loved ones (four-year-olds) to keep socks and hats firmly in place. Dissuade friends from running naked alongside Lake Shore Drive.
And – oh my God – breathe in that gloriously warm air at any cost for as long as humanly possible.
